


Next to Each Other

by rosewindow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewindow/pseuds/rosewindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When in the course of human events, a person walks in on their roommate masturbating, a normal person would mumble awkwardly and back the hell out of the room. Scott and Stiles are not normal people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next to Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new in terms of style, I hope it makes sense.

When in the course of human events, a person walks in on their roommate masturbating, a normal person would mumble awkwardly and back the hell out of the room. Scott and Stiles are not normal people.

“Oh dude, what are you watching?”

Scott doesn’t even bother pulling his shorts up to cover his junk. The first few times this happened, they went through the whole awkward song and dance, but Scott’s used to it by now. Stiles will pull up his desk chair, tilt the laptop screen so it’s at a better angle for both of them, pull his dick out of his shorts, and they get off together. Well, not _together_ , but like, next to each other. It’s a thing.

The problem is, it’s becoming a _Thing_.

Scott’s pretty much only been attracted to girls, but there’s only so much masturbating next to a dude you can do before you start having thoughts. Thoughts like, “his lips look so good bitten like that,” and, “I wonder if he would make that noise if I blew him,” and, “if he doesn’t slow the fuck down I’m going to reach over there and do it for him. Has he never heard of letting it build?” And while he’s about ninety-nine percent sure Stiles isn’t totally straight either, he’s pretty sure making a move on your roommate is in violation of the housing contract he had to sign, or at least against the Bro Code or something.

Though Scott will maintain that Stiles broke the Bro Code first.

> Stiles had just passed his EMT test and the initiation party was insane. He got drunker than Scott had ever seen and when they talked about it later, Stiles apparently didn’t remember anything after the first bottle of Southern Comfort. So Scott never mentioned the drunken flirting.
> 
> “Hey man, you don’t have to worry about him,” the Captain of the EMT squad told Scott as he was corralling his roommate. “We can take care of him here.”
> 
> “No. No, it’s cool.”
> 
> Scott slung Stiles’s arm around his shoulder and fit his around Stiles’s narrow waist. Stiles was taller, but Scott was broader, and their dorm was close, so Scott wasn’t too worried. Stiles was an amiable drunk too - all big smiles and declarations of eternal bro-hood - and he was quite happy to be led down the hill to their room.
> 
> Scott managed to get them in without encountering any RAs or the dorm mom who was sweet most of the time, but an absolute terror when faced with drunk freshmen. But then Stiles wouldn’t let go.
> 
> “Come on, man. Shoes and pants off. It’s bedtime.”
> 
> “You take _your_ pants off,” Stiles mumbled into Scott’s shoulder.
> 
> Scott ignored him and bodily lifted him onto his bed. His brilliant plan was thwarted by Stiles’s death grip on his jacket. He managed to get his hands on the mattress before he faceplanted into Stiles.
> 
> “Scott,” said Stiles, eyes slowly focusing. “We should go to bed.”
> 
> “Yes. Yes we should,” Scott said, jumping on this suggestion like a life raft.
> 
> “Come on in. The water’s fine,” Stiles slurred, patting the bed next to him.
> 
> This was _not_ how this was supposed to go.
> 
> “I’ll- I’ll just sleep in my bed, okay? It’s just there. Right across the room.”
> 
> Stiles frowned, but loosened his grip, and Scott pulled away gratefully. He got Stiles’s shoes off at least, and tugged on his own pajamas.
> 
> “You’re beautiful,” Stiles said softly.
> 
> Scott froze. “What?”
> 
> “So beautiful,” he murmured again, but when Scott turned around to look, he was already fast asleep.

These are not the best thoughts for jerking off to, so Scott focuses instead on the memory of Stiles pressed warm against his side. It’s easy enough because Stiles is almost as close now; their shoulders brushing from time to time as Scott works himself closer to climax.

“Oh hey, I keep meaning to tell you, I get my Jeep back from the shop on Thursday, so we can go to the store any time after that.”

Scott chokes, but his hand doesn’t stop moving. “What the hell brought that up?”

“You- uh-”

Scott glances over, and Stiles is _blushing_. Stiles meets his gaze for a split second and blushes even harder.

“You’ve been using my soap. I can smell it. It’s ‘cause you’re out right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Scott says, trying not to think about the spare bottle buried somewhere in the mess of plastic boxes under his bed. He was going to get it out, he swears, but Stiles’s soap was _right there_ , and yeah, maybe part of him really, really liked the idea of them smelling the same.

“Cool,” Stiles says on a huffed exhale as he twists his hand over the crown of his cock.

Scott snaps his eyes back up to the computer guiltily. He doesn’t even know what’s going on onscreen. Well fucking obviously, that’s what’s going on, but he’s lost whatever tenuous thread of plot there was.

He realizes suddenly that he doesn’t know what kind of porn Stiles likes. Somehow this has never happened the other way around; the only time he’s been aware of Stiles masturbating is when Stiles has walked in on and subsequently joined him. Stiles always gets hard quickly and gets off satisfactorily, so something about this situation must work for him, but Scott doesn’t know what, and that bothers him.

Maybe it’s the proximity and slightly voyeuristic quality to the whole thing. That certainly works for Scott, and had even before his crush started to get out of control. The first time they did this, the illicitness was exhilarating. The idea that someone was watching - that he'd _let_ someone watch - was headier than he’d ever thought. Hearing Stiles’s cut off groans and whimpers as he worked himself, his quiet “fuck” when he came, his breathing steadying afterwards, was one of the hottest things Scott had ever experienced. His orgasm had been mind blowing.

Stiles usually comes first (see aforementioned inability to slow down), but Scott would never admit that part of it is him waiting to hear Stiles - _wanting_ to hear Stiles. This time is no different. Scott can tell Stiles is close. Even though he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the computer screen, he can hear Stiles moving his hand more quickly, focusing on the head. Their shoulders brush as Stiles hunches in on himself, a soft stream of “oh fuck”s falling from his bitten lips. He finishes with a groan and doesn’t quite manage to catch everything so a line of come lands just above Scott’s navel.

Scott comes hard and silently, gasping for air.

“Oh. I’m gonna miss this,” Stiles says, stretching to reveal a line of dark hair that Scott has had dreams about. Not just sex dreams either, but like dreams where he’s resting his head on Stiles’s stomach while Stiles strokes his hair and they watch disaster movies together.

And fuck it, Scott thinks, the semester’s almost over and he’s got some of Stiles’s jizz on his stomach; there will _literally_ never be a better moment for this.

He reaches over, hauls Stiles in by his shirt, and presses their lips together.

> They’d gone out the first weekend. Scott had already been drunk on the whole idea of college, and Stiles had brought a bottle of whiskey from home, which had helped.
> 
> While staggering back to the dorm after a night of absolute debauchery, Stiles had slung his arm around Scott’s shoulder and said, “Dude. Dude. We’re gonna be best bros, right? Like forever?”
> 
> “Forever,” Scott had slurred. “Bes’ brodes.”
> 
> Stiles threw his head back and laughed, and Scott found himself entranced by the line of his throat and the moles scattered across his cheek.
> 
> “Connect the dots,” he giggled, tracing them with his finger.
> 
> “You’re so drunk, bro,” Stiles said cheerfully.
> 
> “Yep!”
> 
> “You’re still the best, man. Still the best.”

That memory flashes through Scott’s head in the second/minute/hour/eternity he has his lips against Stiles’s. However long it’s been, Stiles hasn’t moved. Shit. They were supposed to be best friends, forever, and Scott’s ruined that now. Thrown away one of the best friends he’s ever had, just for a little kiss. Scott pulls away, reluctant and guilty.

“Sorry I broke the Bro Code,” he mutters, and starts to stand up.

“Wait!” says Stiles, way too loud.

Scott sits back down slowly. This is it, he thinks, this is where he lets me down as gently as he can, and we go back to being just friends, and I have to learn how to smother this _stupid_ torch.

“Why are you leaving?” Stiles asks, and it’s so plaintive that Scott finds himself reexamining every interaction again. Maybe he’s missed something.

“Did I miss something?”

“I think I might have,” Stiles says with a wry smile. “You want to kiss me?”

There’s no point in lying. Stiles hasn’t even known him a year and he already knows all of Scott’s tells. They haven’t been able to play poker together since the second month.

“Yes,” he says simply.

“Good,” Stiles hisses, and pulls Scott back to his mouth.

The kiss is simultaneously furious and sweet, and Scott finds himself trying to catalogue every bit of it. From the slightly chapped feel of Stiles’s lips, to the sweep of his tongue, to the clack of teeth as they both surge into the kiss.

They’re both leaning precariously out of their chairs and part of Scott’s brain somehow manages to think things like, “you’re both going to fall and crack your heads open and how will you explain that to your RA?” A small contingent of Scott’s brain beats that part into silence, so the rest of it can get back to kissing Stiles.

Stiles solves the problem by clambering into Scott’s lap.

"Do you think you can get hard again?" Stiles asks desperately, running his hands up and down Scott’s chest.

“If you - fuck - if you keep doing that I can.”

Stiles grins a wicked grin and practically mauls Scott’s neck. Scott is one hundred percent on board with that plan. He throws his head back and groans, and Stiles whimpers against his skin.

“Watched you come so many times,” Stiles mutters, “but this time, I’m going to _make_ you.”

Scott’s hips buck up under Stiles’s weight. He’s close to hard already. The part of his brain that is, apparently, either against sexing or a complete idiot wants to talk about refractory periods and what it says about him that the fact that he can’t really move is turning him on. Luckily, he doesn’t even have to attack it this time, because his entire brain decides to take a vacation when Stiles wraps one, long-fingered hand around his cock.

“Oh shit, fuck.” He bites down on Stiles’s jaw, and they both moan.

It’s frantic and messy and they’re probably about to fall out of the chair and it’s perfect.

Stiles jacks him quickly, and for once Scott isn’t complaining. Stiles runs his thumb up the vein on Scott’s dick and over the slit and whispers, “Next time, I’m gonna blow you. I can’t wait to get your cock in my mouth.”

Scott comes so hard he sees stars.

Stiles strokes him through it, and keeps rutting against Scott’s stomach. When Scott regains control of his limbs, he reaches down and grabs Stiles’s ass. It’s something he’s thought about doing for a while, or rather, tried not to think about. About Stiles’s long legs wrapped around his waist, about being pinned down by his deceptively skinny limbs. Stiles is muttering profanities against Scott’s neck and clutching at his shoulders.

Stiles goes absolutely still as he comes, every line of his body drawn tight, and then he sags against Scott, who’s barely able to keep them both on the chair.

Scott’s heart is still pounding, and he sort of can’t believe that that actually just happened. He’s probably dreaming. Or concussed. That happened to him once during lacrosse season.

> The pile-up had been Jackson and Greenberg’s fault, but Scott was the only one who came out of it injured. After a quick check from the team medic, they’d just sent him home to sleep it off, since his roommate was in EMT training. Scott had just been slipping into a lovely dream, when Stiles shook him awake.
> 
> “Sorry, bro,” he apologized. “Danny texted me and said you were probably concussed. I’m supposed to wake you up every two hours.”
> 
> Scott groaned. “I hate Danny.”
> 
> “No you don’t. Everyone likes Danny. I don’t know why, ‘cause he’s kind of an asshole. It works for him though.”
> 
> Stiles talking about other boys made Scott’s head ache. Though, thinking about it, that was probably just the concussion.
> 
> People liked Stiles, Scott thought, even though he was an asshole sometimes too. Scott liked Stiles. He liked his eyes. They were kind of brown, but also kind of gold. Scott could have stared at them for hours.
> 
> “You okay, man? What’s your name?”
> 
> “Scott McCall.”
> 
> “What’s five plus nine?”
> 
> “Fourteen.”
> 
> “Who do you like the most?” Stiles asked with a smirk.
> 
> “You,” said Scott, too out of it to censor himself.
> 
> Stiles’s expression changed too fast for Scott to keep up, but eventually he said, “Alright, you’re still alive, you can go back to sleep now.”
> 
> Scott did as he was told, but he felt Stiles’s eyes on him until he slipped back into sleep.

Scott shakes himself back to the present to find Stiles watching him.

“You okay? You went away for a minute there.”

Stiles looks worried, and on the verge of freaking out. He has a hickey blooming right under the moles along his jawline. Scott leans up to kiss it tenderly.

He squelches.

Stiles looks down at the come slowly drying on his stomach. “Urgh. Sorry. I’ll get you a towel or something.”

He starts to get off, but Scott tugs him back down to his chest; his shirt is already dirty. “Stay. Please.”

Their room is still and quiet.

“Okay,” says Stiles.

When in the course of human events, a person walks in on their roommate masturbating, a normal person wouldn’t start dating said roommate. Scott has never been happier that he and Stiles aren’t normal.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rosewindow on tumblr too. Come say hello!


End file.
